


The Ladder Scene

by SeahorseTrash



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Actors, Alternate Universe - Artists, Alternate Universe - Theatre, Aristoteles | Aristotle (384-322 BCE) References, Beverly Katz is the Best, Bittersweet Ending, Draw Me Like One of Your French Girls, Dreams, Fluff and Angst, Hannibal Lecter Has a Crush, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Implied Relationships, Jealousy, M/M, Minor Alana Bloom/Margot Verger, Neurodivergent Will, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Relationship(s), Philosophy, Possessive Behavior, References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Tags May Change, Will Graham & Beverly Katz Friendship, adding tags as I write, i read so much aristotle
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:40:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27294322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeahorseTrash/pseuds/SeahorseTrash
Summary: Will Graham is a struggling actor in bustling New York City. When the chemistry between him and his costar is lacking, he turns to Hannibal, a rather successful storyboard artist, for help. Practicing lines has never been so flirty.I promise the ladder is relevant.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 5
Kudos: 45





	1. Hooks and Antlers and Aristotle, Oh My!

Will Graham had been checking his email six times per hour, eagerly awaiting to see the cast list for the local theatre’s latest production: “Hooks and Antlers.” It detailed the relationship between a female hunter and her fisherman husband, struggling through a dramatic separation, only to realize they really do belong together. There was romance, light violence, and comedic relief–everything Will appreciated in a good show. 

He was hoping to be cast as the fisherman’s brother, as he knew going after the lead was likely a lost cause. He felt that he came across as awkward at the audition, and even more so at callbacks. It was more realistic to hope for the bare minimum rather than reaching for the stars. However, as he opened up his laptop at midnight, he was shocked to see his name at the top....and his high school sweetheart’s right under it.

Adrian Perkins - Will Graham

Diane Perkins - Molly Baker

This was going to be interesting. He hadn’t seen Molly since...well, high school. He hoped there wouldn’t be any bad blood. Afterall, he did dump her a week before the prom, but in his defense, he had been thinking about it since Homecoming.  He had to admit, he hadn’t been good to her in the final moments. He was cold and distant, keeping to himself when all she wanted was to share her life with him. If he had any regrets in life, treating Molly the way he did was one of them. She deserved better than Will Graham.

But He didn’t want to dwell on that for too long. It would only dampen his mood. Overall, this was good news! He had to tell Hannibal.

\--

Hannibal Lecter sat in his studio, slaving over his latest piece. Hyacinthus and Apollo lay sprawled out on the canvas, strategically placed cloth draped over their bodies. He wasn’t entirely happy with it. Sure, the anatomy was perfect and everything blended seamlessly, but something was missing and he couldn't place it.

He glanced up as Will Graham burst through the door, still dripping from the rain. He kicked off his boots and shrugged off his coat, hanging it on the rack. He was so clumsy and reckless, but Lecter saw something in that man that nobody else did. He saw his youthful cluelessness and ambition just like every other, but he also saw loneliness in his eyes. It seemed as though Will was missing something, or someone, in his life. Hannibal wished to be that someone. He fell for Will the day they met. He had done well to suppress it ever since, but it clearly showed in his art that he was in love.

“Hello, Will,” Hannibal said, continuing to paint. “You seem excited.”

“I have good news and bad news,” he said, sitting down on a step of the ladder that stood in the middle of the room. “I got the lead in  _ Hooks and Antlers _ !”

“And the bad news?” Hannibal asked, looking up once more.

“My ex is playing the love interest.”

Hannibal’s paint stroke came to a grinding halt. “Well, then, that will make things difficult. Are you comfortable with this?”

“Honestly?” Will began. “I hadn’t really thought about what I would do if this kind of thing happened. I mean, we were both going into theatre, so we were bound to run into each other after the relationship ended. I’m not a huge fan of the idea, but I’m not going to turn down the role because of it.”

“I think you made the right choice,” Hannibal said, cleaning his brush and placing it carefully in its holder. “It would be a shame to miss such an opportunity due to past feelings.”

“What are you working on?” Will asked, walking over to see the unfinished painting.

“One of many pieces in a series on ancient lovers,” Hannibal said. “Beginning in Greece with the tragedy of Apollo and Hyacinthus.”

“You know, the ancient Greeks had eight different words for love,” Will said, flexing his philosophy minor. “Eros, passionate love; Philia, affectionate love; Agape, selfless love. Then there’s Storge, familiar love; Ludus, playful love; Pragma, enduring love; Philautia, self love…”

“And Mania, obsessive love.” Hannibal finished his thought. “I also studied Greek philosophy in college. In fact, I live by it.”

“Then I’m sure you know thyself very well.” Will seemed proud of himself, as if he had just referenced the most obscure Socrates quote ever. “You know, the Greeks basically invented theatre as we know it.”

“And they have Dionysus to thank,” Hannibal said. “He gave them theatre, among other things such as festivity, ecstasy, and, well, booze.”

“I never liked Dionysus,” Will said, scrunching up his face. “He often drove mortals to insanity, leaving them to let go of their judgment and ultimately, their humanity.”

“Are you afraid of letting go, Will?” Hannibal asked. 

“No, I’m afraid of going insane,” Will admitted. “I’ve been close before, and it’s not very enjoyable.”

“Well then, who do you prefer?” Hannibal asked. “Of the gods, who's your favorite?”

“Tough call between the Muses and the Oneiroi,” Will said. “I like to think I’m inspired, but I also have wild dreams, so I’m not sure who’s influencing my life at the moment.”

“Has Phobetor paid you a visit recently?” Hannibal asked, remembering a time when Will had nightmares nearly every time he closed his eyes. 

“I haven’t really had a  _ nightmare _ recently, but I’ve certainly had strange dreams,” he said.

“Aristotle believed that dreams are extensions of reality, and that our imagination is responsible for the impossible feats that appear as reality in our dreams.” Hannibal stood, walking to his bookcase and retrieving Aristotle’s  _ On Dreams _ . “While we’re awake, it is easy to distinguish between our imagination and reality, but in sleep, that ability disappears. This is why they feel so real, and you are upset when you wake from a pleasant dream. You wish that dream were your reality.”

“What do you dream about, Hannibal?” Will asked. “What do you wish were your reality?”

“Last night, I dreamt of this piece,” Hannibal said, gesturing towards his painting. “I dreamt that it was perfect, but that truly was just a dream because I cannot seem to achieve perfection.”

“I think it’s pretty good.” Will said. “What do you feel like it’s missing?

“There’s something about Hyacinthus,” he said, gesturing towards the smaller man. “He has no emotion, no life or passion in his eyes.”

“Maybe you just need a living reference,” Will said. “Find somebody who looks like your vision of hyacinthus and have them model for you.”

“Or I could just use you.” Hannibal suggested. He gestured to his left. ”Sit over there. Don’t put on a face, just be you.”

Will hesitated for a moment, then pulled up a stool and sat down, relaxing his face and shoulders.

“Face the windows and turn your head this way,” Hannibal said. He stood and walked over to Will, gently tilting his chin slightly upward. “There, perfect.”

“This isn’t going to be a regular thing, right?” Will asked. “You know I’m terrible at sitting still.”

“You’re doing wonderful,” Hannibal assured him as his brush glided on the canvas.

It had been a while since he had the opportunity to simply admire Will’s full appearance. Even with his hair soaking wet and his face ungroomed, he was beautiful. His eyes sparkled under the studio lights. Faint shadows were cast on one side of his face. The slope of his jawline looked as if it were sculpted by Michaelangelo himself, its sharpness contrasting the sweet and soft quality of his features.

“How do I look?” Will teased.

“Like you were made in a god’s image,” Hannibal said, adding the fine strokes of his hair. “Apollo would fall for you in a heartbeat. Let’s just hope he doesn’t try to teach you how to throw discus.”

Will smiled. God, he was perfect.

  
  



	2. Damn You, Aristotle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to preface this with a warning of sorts: Molly's kinda gonna sound like a bitch for the first few chapters but I PROMISE she comes around and is the sweetest!!
> 
> ALSO: tw for depiction of a sensory overload meltdown as experienced by a person on the autism spectrum. Totally not me projecting onto Will in any way ;) I'm not going to make too big of a deal out of ND Will, but it's definitely there, mostly just in details rather than big plot points.

Will had been reading over his script all night, highlighting and making notes. He wanted to make a good impression on the director, as he was well-known in the area.

Showing up sleep-deprived probably wasn’t the best idea, but hey, shit happens.

The subway terminal was filled with the sound of a man singing and playing guitar. A woman sang opera by the staircase. Another man played a saxophone in the corner. It was a strange mashup of Careless Whisper, Lakme, and REM, but Will wasn’t paying attention to any of it. All he cared about was being on time–or rather, early. In the performing arts, on time was late.

The cars were cramped. He had to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with a dozen other cityfolk, likely on their way to work. They donned suits and sheath dresses, creating a chaotic murmur as they all talked on their mobile phones. A baby was crying, the mother desperately trying to console it. The volume as diversity of the noise was overwhelming. Will couldn’t hear himself think. He wished he could stuff his ears with cotton and make it all go away. He was becoming increasingly aware of the fluorescent lights flickering above him, and the rumbling of the train beneath his feet. The sensation crawled up his legs to settle in his stomach. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, thunder roaring in his ears. 

_ “Not here. Not Now. Please,” _ he thought.

He hadn’t had an episode like this in months. Why now? Was it the anxiety of playing a lead role? Was he more worried about seeing Molly than he initially thought?

Seconds felt like minutes and minutes felt like hours as he stood there silent and trembling. He closed his eyes tightly and covered his ears, clenching his teeth so hard he thought they’d break. He felt the blood and heat rushing to his face, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. It felt like the walls were closing in on him, everyone on the train watching him crumble.

He wished Hannibal were there. He always knew how to calm him down in these moments. He knew all the right things to say and do. Will hated doing this alone.

“Young man, are you okay?” an older woman asked, tapping him on the shoulder.

He slowly turned to face her, wiping a tear from his eye. He tried to speak, but nothing came out. It was as if somebody held a vice grip on his vocal chords.

“Where are you getting off?” she asked.

“43rd,” was all he could manage in between shallow breaths

“Alright, you’ve only got a few minutes to go,” she said, guiding him to an empty seat in the corner. She helped him down, standing by his side. She reached into her bag and pulled out an unopened water bottle, handing it to him. “Here, have some water. The coldness will help.”

“Thank you,” Will said, his voice slowly returning.

“You remind me of my grandson,” the woman told him. “He never liked the subway, always said it was too loud. He was diagnosed when he was eight, such a shy little thing. He’s made lots of progress in therapy, but even now at 16, he still wears headphones.” She paused, accepting that there may be no reply. “So, what brings you to this side of town?”

“I...I’m in a play,” Will said. “At Westside.”

“Oh, you’re an actor!” She smiled with delight. She was excited to hear about his career, but most importantly, she was glad he was talking. “Is this a new play? What is it about?”’

“It’s called ‘Hooks and Antlers’,” he began, feeling a wave of calm wash over him. He knew exactly what this woman was doing. She was trying to get him to talk about his special interests, to take his mind off the chaos. It was working. “It’s about this fisherman and his wife, who is a hunter. Winter is approaching and they are ill-prepared, so their relationship begins to deteriorate as they blame it on one another.”

“It sounds very interesting,” the woman said. “Do they at least make up at the end?”

“Yes,” Will said, nodding. “During an argument, they start talking about how things were better in the past, and eventually agree to try and get back to that state of happiness.”

“That’s lovely. I’m sure you’ll do wonderful.” She looked out the window as the train slowed. “Well, this is your stop. It was nice talking to you, and I hope you have a great day.”

Will smiled and waved goodbye as he stood to get off. He was shaken, but felt a lot better than if he had been alone.

He checked his watch. He only had a few minutes to get to the theatre. Luckily, he’d been there many times before, so he knew a shortcut.

The alley was dark, filled with puddles of liquid that clearly wasn’t water. Will knew that it was best to just look straight ahead. He paid no mind to the figures in the shadows or the rats that scurried between his feet. The feeling of being watched and followed no longer bothered him. No matter what he saw, heard, or felt, he kept walking. And  before he knew it, he had emerged unscathed on the other side. The theatre was only a block away at this point, and he could already feel the butterflies of a first rehearsal in his stomach. 

He’d only ever been to Westside as an audience member, so this was kind of a big deal. It had always been his dream to make it to broadway. While this wasn't it, it was certainly close enough.

As he opened the door to the house, he could hear chatter amongst the cast members. A few turned to look at him, promptly returning to their conversations.

“Sorry I’m late,” he announced, draping his coat over one of the seats. “The subway was a nightmare.”

“You’re five minutes early,” said a male voice behind him. He turned to see none other than the director, Jack Crawford. 

“Oh, hello!” Will greeted him anxiously, his eyes to the floor. “I’m Will...Graham.”

“I knew I recognized your face from that amazing audition, Mr. Graham,” he said. He gestured for a blonde woman to come over. “This is Molly. She’ll be playing your wife, so I want you two to get to know each other.” He walked away, leaving them alone together.

“Hey,” Will waved awkwardly. He wasn’t entirely sure what to say, and it seemed as though Molly didn’t either.

Thankfully the awkward silence was broken by the stage manager, Beverly Katz.

“Congratulations, you two!” She greeted them with open arms. “You got the leads. How do you feel?”

“Yeah, about that,” Will began. “We’re, uh...”

“He’s my ex,” Molly interrupted.

Beverly raised her eyebrows, her eyes darting between the two. 

“Well then,” she said, “I guess you two are really going to have to pretend to love each other.”

“Oh, that won’t be a problem,” Molly assured her. “He was pretending for the last six months of our relationship.”

“Oh, come one,” Will scoffed. “That’s ridiculous. Don’t act like you weren’t thinking about it too.”

“Sure, I was,” Molly said, “but I didn’t lie to you and say that I wasn’t. Just a month before you dumped me, I came clean. I was honest with you and we talked it out. You told me that going off to college didn’t have to change things, and I believed you. Then by the time Prom rolled around, you changed your mind? No, you were lying the whole time. Face it, Will. You’re a liar.”

“Wow,” Beverly chimed in. “Clearly you too will have no trouble with the big fight scene. I’m going to take this as my queue to leave.” She retreated back into the mass gathering of techs.

“Look, I’m sorry,” Wil said. “I didn’t know how you’d react, so I just pretended like my doubts about our relationship never existed. When I got accepted to a college three states away, I couldn’t ignore them anymore. I tried to make things work, I really did.”

“You know what? Forget it. Don’t talk to me unless it’s in the script.” She turned and walked away, letting her words hang in the air like a puff of smoke.

This was going to be more difficult than he’d expected.

\--

After a very long and stressful day, all Will wanted to do was sleep. But even that was tainted by his inner turmoil, as his strange dreams had returned with a vengeance.

When he closed his eyes, he found himself back in Hannibal’s art studio. The lights were off, except for one, which illuminated a tall ladder in the center of the room. Looking up, Will couldn’t see the end of it. 

Something told him to climb, so he did. The first few steps were wobbly and fearful, but he soon gained confidence and speed, determined to reach the top. After a while, he was no longer apple to see the floor. The ladder reached high up into the clouds, finally arriving on solid ground somewhere in the stratosphere. A man sat in one of two chairs, his back to Will.

“Hello, Will,” he said, as if he had sensed Will’s presence. It was Hannibal. “I’ve been waiting for you. It must have been a rough day.”

“You have no idea,” Will said, walking over to the chair across from Hannibal’s. They sat face to face, therapy style. “I had a meltdown today, on the subway.”

“That is certainly not the most peaceful environment,” Hannibal said. “Perhaps your body is trying to tell you something.”

“Well, its communication skills are lacking,” Will sighed. “Went through all that trouble just to send a message to the wrong address. I don’t know what it’s trying to say.”

“Do you listen to your body, Will?” Hannibal asked, sitting up in curiosity. “When it tells you to eat, sleep, or slow down, do you listen?”

No. He didn’t. He had spent the previous night reading his script twenty-seven times and eating lean cuisine for dinner. It was always like this, especially when he was stressed out. The more he had going on in his life, the less he cared for himself.

“I’ll take your silence as a  _ no _ ,” Hannibal said. “Tell me, what has been burdening you?”

“Where do I begin?” Will sighed, slouching into the chair. “I’ve been casted at the lead in the biggest production I’ve ever been a part of. My ex-girlfriend is supposed to be playing my love interest, and she’s apparently still mad at me. My mental health is tanking and I can only feel safe when I’m with another person.”

“Who is that person?” Hannibal asked. He knew the answer, but he wanted Will to say it.

“I don’t know,” he said. He briefly glanced up at Hannibal, then lowered his gaze. “I mean, I do feel safer in your studio than I do in my own apartment sometimes.”

“And there’s nothing wrong with that.” Hannibal smiled. “You are always welcome in my studio, Will.”

“Why me?” Will asked. Hannibal had never let anyone into his studio except for him. It was a sacred space.

“I enjoy seeing you.” He said. “And I trust you. My studio is where my heart lies, and you alone are allowed inside.”

Suddenly, the ground beneath them began to crumble, large cracks forming at their feet. The earth disintegrated and was carried away in a gust of wind. Before Will knew it, he was falling.

Hannibal’s final words sat heavy on his chest as he awoke in an anxious sweat. He checked the clock. It was only two in the morning, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep. There was too much on his mind now.

Strange, poetic, and cryptically romantic, the version of Hannibal that lived in Will’s dreams was an enigma. Perhaps Aristotle was onto something when he claimed that dreams were an extension of reality. If so, it was clear what was going on here, and Will wasn’t sure if he was ready for it.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also: changed my mind, I'm gonna update EVERY Friday until further notice. So basically as long as I'm able to keep up.


	3. Where's The Flavor?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just as a prerequisite, I'd like to mention that I'm going for a season 1 Will vibe. That just feels like an important piece of information, especially for these next few chapters.

It had been a week of sleepless nights since Will dreamt of Hannibal. He was still trying to decode the message from his dream, if there was any. His performance in the theatre was shrouded in the same fog of confusion that had rolled in that night. Jack, Beverly, Molly, they all noticed. Molly even broke her vow of silence to tell him he was acting strange, and he agreed with her. He didn’t feel like himself. Perhaps overanalyzing his own dreams was causing him unnecessary stress, but he was only trying to follow Hannibal’s advice. Interpreting dreams counted as listening to his body, right?

He contemplated talking about it with the man himself. It certainly wouldn’t hurt to hear his perspective.

After a far less eventful day of rehearsal and subway rides, Will found himself at the door of Hannibal’s studio, hesitant to knock. But he did, and there were only a few quick footsteps on the other side before it opened. Hannibal emerged in his usual attire, a clear plastic suit covering it all.

This was his painting suit. Will remembered this from the last time he barged in on a major project. If Hannibal was wearing his painting suit, it almost always meant he was working on something big. Will wondered if this was the wrong time. He’d hate to interrupt.

“Hello, Will,” Hannibal greeted him, pleasantly surprised.

“May I come in?” Will asked.

“Always.” Hannibal felt a slight smile form on his lips. He took Will’s coat and bag and hung them on a hook by the door.

Will entered to see a massive canvas leaned against the wall. The piece was barely halfway done, but Will could already tell it was going to be one of Hannibal’s best works. Under a mulberry tree, a man lay dying, blade in hand. A woman sobbed over his body while a lioness lurked in the background.

“That’s really something,” he remarked, walking over to take a closer look. “Is it Pyramus and Thisbe?”

“The original Romeo and Juliet,” Hannibal said, joining him. “Pyramus believed that Thisbe had been slain by a lioness, so he threw himself onto his blade. When Thisbe returned, she was so heartbroken to find him there that she did the same.”

“People were very impulsive back then,” Will said. 

“They were only human,” Hannibal said. “We all do crazy things for love.” He paused, glancing at Will. “So, what brings you to the studio today?”

“My dreams are growing increasingly bizarre,” Will told him, pulling out a stool. “Last week, there was one that really stuck with me. I can’t stop thinking about it, trying to figure out what it means.”

“What happened in your dream?” Hannibal asked, sitting opposite to him.

“I still don’t entirely understand it,” Will admitted. “It started here, in the studio. There was this tall ladder that reached all the way up into the clouds, where there was some kind of floating island. It was just big enough for two chairs—one for you and one for me. The way it was arranged, it was as if you were my therapist. You were saying very strange, cryptic things and asking way too many questions. Towards the end, it got kind of fuzzy, but you were making some metaphor about your art studio and your heart. It was all just very confusing.”

“The words and symbols in your dreams can mean many things,” Hannibal explained. “For example, I appeared in your dream as a therapist. Do you see spending time with me as therapeutic?”

Will hadn’t thought about it like that. He often flocked to Hannibal in times of need. They talked not only about art and philosophy, but also about their own thoughts and emotions. Well, mostly Will’s. Hannibal wasn’t keen on sharing.

“Well, social interaction has been proven to have a positive impact on mental health,” he said, “so I suppose the answer would be yes.” 

“Do you remember anything I said in your dream?” Hannibal asked.

“My studio is where my heart lies, and you alone are allowed inside,” Will said. 

Hannibal paused for a moment, wondering how much Will had figured out. He hoped this wasn’t the day Will Graham realized Hannibal’s feelings for him. The time wasn’t right, not yet.

“There is no secret message behind that sentence,” Hannibal said. “You are the only other living soul that is permitted to pass through that door. I have let you see what lies beneath my surface. It is a rare gift.”

“I’m not sure I’m deserving of such a gift,” Will said, feeling a rush of blood to his face. He bowed his head in an effort to hide, hoping Hannibal would think he was simply admiring the coffee stain on his pants. He had washed them twice, he swore, but it just wouldn’t come out.

Just like that stubborn coffee stain, Will wished he could wash away the thoughts of Hannibal that plagued his mind. Curiosity was eating away at his brain, burrowing into his prefrontal cortex. His judgment was impaired, he knew that for sure. He just didn’t know how something as simple as a dream could disrupt his life in this way.

“Will?” Hannibal rescued him from his thought spiral. “Tell me, what’s going on in your head right now?”

“I’m just overthinking things, per usual,” he said as he stood, checking his watch. It was almost dinner time. “I should really get going if I have any hope of beating the dinner rush at the deli.”

“You are always welcome to stay for dinner,” Hannibal said, walking over to him. “I enjoy cooking for others, and I have plenty of recipes for two.”

“You know what?” Will said, grabbing his bag. “How about we schedule that for some night next week after rehearsal? I’ll call and let you know when I’m free.”

“I will hold you to that,” Hannibal assured him, opening the door for him. “Try to get some sleep tonight. You look exhausted.”

“Will do,” Will promised as he headed out the door, waving a final goodbye. As the door closed behind him, he let out the breath he’d been holding. Rushing down the stairs of the complex, he wasn’t sure if his conversation with Hannibal had cleared things up or made them even foggier. Either way, he left with a strange feeling in his chest and even more confusing thoughts in his head. When he stepped out onto the streets, the bitter winter wind cut straight through his shirt.

“Shit…” he muttered under his breath, looking back at the apartments. He had left his coat at Hannibal’s place. He could come back for it later. Right now, he just wanted to go to bed.

—

It had been a whole week since their first argument, and Molly had only spoken to Will off-script once. The tension between them showed in their acting, as chemistry was severely lacking. The only time they seemed to work well together was in the big fight scene. They had been working on it all afternoon, and there seemed to be no difference between Adrian and Diane, and Will and Molly.

The scene took place in the kitchen, cardboard boxes marking the counters and refrigerator. They weren’t getting real set pieces until tech week, as their most trustworthy carpenter was on vacation. They also had no artists to render backgrounds and decorate pieces, but they'd cross that bridge when they got to it.

“How could you be so irresponsible?” Molly asked. She was nearly off-book already. “You were supposed to check the antifreeze and change the tires on the car two weeks ago, you still haven’t gathered all the firewood, and you haven’t even started patching up the roof. What have you been doing all this time?”

“I’ve been at the market selling fish, trying to make us enough money to survive this winter,” Will said. “The fish don’t bite as much when that lake freezes over. I haven’t seen you going out for a hunt in ages. What’s going on with you?”

“I’ve been cleaning out the canned foods, switching out the storm windows, and insulating the pipes,” Molly said, gesturing towards the boxes that represented the pantry, the windows, and the sink. “I can’t do everything, Adrian. I just can’t. I’m exhausted.”

“Don’t you think I’m tired too?” Will threw his hands up in frustration. “I spend all day out on that lake trying to provide for us. When I come home, all I have the energy to do is feed the dogs and on a good day, I eat dinner.”

“Oh, poor you,” Molly mocked him, hands on her hips. “You act like you are the biggest fish in the pond, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. You are a minnow, a nobody. I can’t believe I married you.”

They went on like this for what felt like minutes. The argument shifted into romance in a violent crescendo, but thankfully Jack called it a day before the kiss. Will knew they would only mark it, but he still didn’t feel very comfortable getting that close to another person. It just wasn’t the right time for him.

As he hopped off the stage and started gathering his belongings, Jack approached him.

“Will,” he began, “you seem distracted today. What’s going on? Anything we need to talk about?” 

“I…” Will considered talking about his strange situation with Hannibal, but decided against it. “No, I’ve just got a lot on my mind.”

“Well, I hope you get those things sorted out in the next few days,” Jack said. He looked over at Molly, who was bundling up. “I’d also like for you and Molly to start talking to each other. It’s really important that you two build some chemistry, especially for that final scene. You don’t have to get back together, just be friendly.”

“Okay, I’ll try to reach out more,” Will said. “I don’t know if she’ll want to talk to me, though.”

“I can imagine that must be difficult for you,” Jack said. “Sometimes my wife gives me the silent treatment. It’s not a good feeling. Just start small, maybe go out for lunch in a public place, somewhere with enough cool scenery to start a conversation. I also recommend practicing those lines with someone you don’t have such a...tumultuous history with.”

“That’s a good idea.” Will glanced at Molly. “I’ll be better tomorrow, I promise.” 

“Let’s hope for the best.” Jack left to speak with Beverly, presumably about the set and prop situation.

Will walked over to where Molly was gathering her things. She looked slightly more approachable in her plaid wool coat.

“Hey, before you go,” Will said, catching her as she began to walk out. “Jack wants us to get together outside of rehearsal to build chemistry. Are you free tomorrow for lunch?”

“Depends,” she said, “is your venue choice going to be just as bad as it was in high school?”

“It’ll let you pick,” Will said. He had to admit, a food truck was a bad idea for a first date, but that was all in his past. Hannibal had refined his tastes, although he still enjoyed some pizza bagels every now and then.

“This is gonna be fun,” Molly sighed.

“Yeah, just like the good old days.”

“Will, I was being sarcastic,” she deadpanned. “I’m not really looking forward to digging up all those memories, but if it’s for the play’s sake, I’ll do it. See you tomorrow.” She walked away before Will could say any more.

She was still mad. He couldn’t blame her. He was a total asshole in high school—unintentionally, of course. He simply didn’t understand how relationships worked yet. All he knew about romance came from Shakespeare and rom-coms. Finding the right words to stay was always difficult, and physical affection was a whole different story.

Will wasn’t much of a hugger. Or a kisser. Or even a hand-holder. At least, he had only felt comfortable doing those things with very few people. It made playing love interests quite difficult. He accepted that faking it was part of the job, but always felt strange afterwards, like he had done something wrong. Molly had understood this, but Will knew it hurt her feelings when he would pull away early or keep his hands to himself.

They would have no problem finding things to talk about. Will just wasn’t sure if he was mentally prepared for those conversations.


	4. *Chef’s Kiss*

Will stood outside the door to Hannibal Lecter’s apartment, two scripts in hand. He felt a little better about their previous conversation, but there were still many unanswered questions that he simply chose to ignore. For now, he just needed the man’s help.

It took a moment for Hannibal to answer when he knocked on the door. He emerged, hot tea in hand, wearing a red cable knit sweater and slacks.

“Will?” He seemed to be caught off guard. “Come in.” He led him through the studio and into the kitchen, which housed an array of herbal concoctions and fancy knives. He put down his mug and made a feeble attempt to fix his hair, which was still very much tousled. “I wasn’t expecting company today, forgive me for being so underdressed. Have you eaten?”

“No, but I actually came here for a different reason,” Will said. He had to admit, the idea of a home-cooked meal from Hannibal was very tempting, but he had to focus on the task at hand.

“You promised we would have dinner together, Will,” he said. “You are not one to break promises.”

“I did.” Will sighed. “I did, didn’t I?” He paused, thinking about it. “You know what? How about I fulfill that promise tonight.” He sat at the bar, shrugging off his jacket. That reminded him: he still needed to get his other coat back.

“I was hoping you’d say that,” Hannibal said with a smile as he disappeared into the pantry. He grabbed pasta, dried cranberries, olive oil, balsamic vinegar, peppercorns, and pecans. From the fridge, he retrieved baby spinach, basil, oregano, and feta cheese. 

First, he put a pot of water on the stove to boil. He salted the water and when it began to bubble, he poured in two helpings of orecchiette. As the pasta cooked, he ground peppercorns in a mortar and pestle, along with fresh basil and oregano. He added olive oil and balsamic vinegar to create a dressing. 

Will watched in awe. He had eaten Hannibal’s cooking many times before, but he had never watched the process. Everything was so precise, so calculated, and yet, so free. He didn’t mind the silence

By the time Hannibal was finished, the pasta was al dente. He poured it into a colander to drain the water, then lined the bottom of the pot with spinach. He dumped the drained pasta on top, letting the spinach wilt. He then coated the pasta with dressing, adding the dried cranberries, pecans, and feta cheese and stirring the mixture one last time.

“Balsamic orecchiette with spinach, craisins, & feta,” he said as he served Will his dinner. “Made with love, as always. The love of cooking, of course.”

Before Hannibal could finish his sentence, Will had already taken his first bite. An explosion of flavor took over his mouth, rendering him speechless. It was good. Like, really good. He could taste everything. The cranberries, the pecans, and the cheese—it was all there, topped with a peppery, sweet, and tangy dressing.

“How is it?” Hannibal asked, grabbing two glasses and a bottle of red wine.

“Wonderful,” he said, stopping to watch as Hannibal poured a glass for both of them.

“It’s even better with a 2016 Côtes du Rhône,” he remarked as he put the bottle away and joined Will at the bar. “So, what brings you here today? Any more strange dreams?”

“Thankfully, no,” Will said. “I was actually hoping you could help me practice some lines. The director suggested I practice with someone with whom I do not have any romantic history.”

Hannibal had to admit, that one hurt.

“I’d be happy to help,” he said.

They finished their meal in silence, leaving Hannibal alone with his thoughts. He couldn’t help but notice the hollow space in his chest growing as he felt the possibility of a relationship with Will drifting further away. He had to do something, and fast.

When they were done eating, Will handed Hannibal a copy of the script, flipped to the final scene. Jack wanted this part to be immaculate, so Will figured it was the best place to start. They made their way to the studio, where there was more floor space to work with. Will slid the stools under the table and moved the ladder out of the way. Why was it always in the middle of the room like that? He didn’t question Hannibal’s methods.

“Alright,” he said, looking for a good beginning line. “We don’t have to go through the entire argument, just the ending where things start to take a turn. Let’s go with  _ You act like you’re the biggest fish in the pond.” _

“You act like you are the biggest fish in the pond,” Hannibal began, “but that couldn’t be further from the truth. You are a minnow, a nobody. I can’t believe I married you.” He paused, breaking character. “This woman is vicious. I do not like her.”

“Yes, yes she is,” Will laughed. “But you know, it’s who she needs to be, braving the woods where vicious animals live. And Adrian is calm like the water so as to not disturb the fish. It’s quite fascinating, actually. Anyways, that’s enough of my analysis. Let’s continue.”

“Alright then,” Hannibal said, returning to the script. “Where were we? Ah, yes,  _ I can’t believe I married you! _ ”

“You were the one that endlessly poked at the idea.” Will said. “You insisted that we settle down in the middle of nowhere, and look where that’s gotten us. All day, I’m trapped here with no other company. I just wish we lived closer to the city.”

“Well excuse me for trying to make things special for us,” Hannibal retorted, crossing his arms. “You know, I really do love you, Adrian. I really do. But I’m not convinced that you ever loved me.”

“Don’t be silly, Diane, you know I love you,” Will assured her....him? “I fell in love with you the day we met. Don’t you remember? You were so beautiful and so charming, I fell out of my boat, and you helped me out of the water. We shared dinner that night by the fire and I knew it was you. You were the one.”

Hannibal drifted closer to Will, as the script said. Reading ahead, he let a slight smile form on his face.

“Yes, I do remember,” he said. “You were totally helpless without me, weighed down by your gear. If I hadn’t trudged into the frigid lake, you could’ve frozen to death. When we went back to your house, you gave  _ me _ a towel. And they say chivalry is dead.” He took a thoughtful pause. “Things were better back then, before we got married. It’s not as wonderful as I thought it would be. This just isn’t what I wanted.”

“Well, I can’t give you what you want if you don’t tell me,” Will said. “What do you want from me?”

“I want you, Adrian.”

“And then they furiously make out,” Will said with a nervous laugh. “I’m feeling okay about that part. Don’t really need to practice that.”

“If you say so,” Hannibal said. “I would like to run through it one more time, though.” He put down his script. “Without the script.”

“Fine by me,” Will said, setting his script aside as well. “Where should we start?”

“I’d like to hear that last bit again.  _ Don’t be silly, Diane _ ,” Hannibal said. “It needs more emotion. You must convince me that you are truly in love with me. Don’t just use your words,  _ show me _ .”

Will cleared his throat. “Don’t be silly, Diane, you know I love you. I fell in love with you the day we met.” He stepped forward, taking Hannibal’s hands, still leaving considerable space between them. “Don’t you remember? You were so beautiful and so charming, I fell out of my boat, and you helped me out of the water. We shared dinner that night by the fire and I knew it was you. You were the one”

“Yes, I do remember,” Hannibal said, taking another step forward. The space between them begged to be closed. “You were totally helpless without me, weighed down by your gear. If I hadn’t trudged into the frigid lake, you could’ve frozen to death. When we went back to your house, you gave  _ me _ a towel. And they say chivalry is dead.” He once again paused here, gazing into Will’s eyes. “Things were better back then, before we got married. It’s not as wonderful as I thought it would be. This just isn’t what I wanted.”

“Well, I...I can’t give you what you want if you...if you don’t tell me.” Will stumbled over his words, clearly flustered. “What do you want from me?”

“I want you, Will,” Hannibal said, guiding Will’s hands to rest on his shoulders as his own curled around Will’s waist.

“Very funny, Hannibal,” Will said with a nervous smile. “C’mon, stop fooling around. This is-“

Before Will could say another word, Hannibal pulled him in. He brought up a hand to stroke Will’s cheek, pausing for a moment before their lips collided.

Will’s eyes widened in shock, soon closing with acceptance. Time slowed to a crawl as he melted into Hannibal’s arms. His hands were everywhere—caressing his face, sliding down to his hips and crawling up his spine. Will’s knees grew weak as his head spun. The two backed into the ladder that stood against the wall. He leaned into it, pulling Hannibal back with him. 

Kissing Hannibal didn’t give him that strange, guilty feeling that others did. He didn’t feel as though he was doing anything wrong. At that moment, it felt so _ right _ . The only discomfort was the steps on the ladder pressing into his back, but he didn’t care. He was in a state of pure bliss. He didn’t want to move. He didn’t think he could. But he had to come up for air at some point.

“This isn’t a stage kiss,” Will whispered as he pulled away, losing himself in Hannibal’s eyes. 

“No, it is not,” Hannibal said. 

Hearing Hannibal’s voice made everything suddenly feel so... _real_. Will looked down at the position he had gotten himself into, and he felt panic beginning to rise in his stomach. The room felt like summer as he became increasingly aware of Hannibal’s touch. He couldn’t make sense of what he was feeling. It was like he was back on the subway, but instead of people, he was surrounded by his own thoughts, emotions, and the fears.

“Will?” Hannibal sounded worried. He knew something was wrong.

“I think I need to go home,” Will said, fumbling his way to the door. He grabbed the coat he left last week off the hook on his way out. He wasn’t forgetting that again, not in this weather.

He wasn’t really sure what just happened, but he knew he wouldn’t be sleeping that night.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now you see why I called it "The Ladder Scene." All those subliminal messaging ladders scattered throughout the last three chapters and then BOOM the one and only ladder kiss
> 
> Sorry this update was a little late. I had this chapter done far in advanced, but I got really sidetracked working on another fic that I hope to start uploading soon ;)


	5. It Was Only A Kiss (It Was Only A Kiss)

Hannibal Lecter believed that nearly any problem could be solved with art. Whether he was happy, sad, angry, or in love, he channeled those emotions into his art. It had worked in the past, but today, he had no inspiration. He simply had no desire to create.

He felt...destructive.

It had only been a few minutes since Will left, just a few minutes since they kissed. The euphoria had faded into self-loathing as he slumped into the couch with their bottle of wine.

He couldn’t believe he acted so impulsively. He normally planned his actions ten steps ahead, but he let his judgment slip, and it backfired.

Everything was perfect. He cooked dinner, they ate together, and shared one of the best red wines Hannibal owned. He gave Will the full treatment, but Hannibal still found some way to mess it up.

He dug through this bag to retrieve his phone, opening the messaging app. He only used it to talk to Will and a fellow artist off whom he often bounced ideas.

We contemplated texting Will, just to check on him. It was getting late, so he may have gone to bed, but Hannibal needed to make sure he hadn’t ruined their friendship.

_“Are you okay?”_

He waited a few minutes with no response. When he checked his phone again, Will was typing. Then he stopped.

Filled with anger towards himself, he made his way to the studio. He was looking for any reminder of a life that was worth the trouble. All he found was paintings of the kind of love he wished to have with Will. Apollo and Hyacinthus laughed at him as they held each other close. Psyche and Eros looked down at him with disappointment. Pyramus rose from the dead to mock him. No one had ever loved him like that. It was all he had ever asked for, and yet it was too much for the universe to grant him.

When art failed to heal his heart, he turned to philosophy. He had many books on the shelf, but very few contained the wisdom he required. The ancient Greeks thought nothing of heartbreak, so he found himself straying towards the Romans.

“ _If you are pained by any external thing, it is not this thing that disturbs you, but your own judgment about it_.” — Meditations, Marcus Aurelius, Book VIII, Article 45

It wasn’t Will’s rejection that angered him. It was his own reaction. He hated how much it hurt. He wished he could just feel numb like he did with almost everything else. He thought that the critics of the art world would have toughened him up a little. Sure, his outer shell was solid as a rock, but his insides were still too soft.

He had received the hard truth. Now he needed guidance.

“ _With your whole will surrender yourself to Clotho to spin your fate into whatever web of things she will._ ” — Meditations, Marcus Aurelius, Book IV, Article 34

Hannibal knew in his heart that his fate would sort itself out some day, but he had grown impatient. He had forgotten Epictetus’ wise words about love. He had forgotten that Will, the person he loved, was mortal just like him; and that there was an allotted time for love. Just as a fig or a bunch of grapes was given at the appointed season of the year, so was love. 

“If you wish for these things in winter, you are a fool,” he quoted to himself.

Of course, how could he be so foolish? He had panicked and acted too soon.

He looked over at his painting of Hyacinthus and Apollo. Will Graham’s likeness haunted him. He saw Will staring at him like a deer in headlights, pushing him away and stumbling out the door.

He couldn’t bear to look at it.

In a rash act of anger and frustration, he picked up the canvas and snapped the thin wooden frame over his knee, tossing the painting aside. It was over. He couldn’t take back what he had done.

\--

Will didn’t fall asleep until four in the morning. All night, he had been over-analyzing every move Hannibal made that night. The dinner, the wine, the chivalry–it was all leading up to that moment. He wondered if Hannibal had planned it all, or if it was impulsive. Both were very much possible. After torturing himself with these thoughts for hours, he finally passed out from the mental exhaustion.

He woke up at noon to an alarm on his phone that read, “LUNCH WITH MOLLY - 10 MINS”.

Shit.

He rolled out of bed and scrambled to his closet, grabbing a pair of denim trousers, a plaid button-up shirt, and a winter coat. He slipped on his old, beat-up leather chelsea boots and rushed to the bathroom to fix his hair and brush his teeth. Catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror, he saw a horrific set of under-eye bags, darkened even more by the shadow of his brow. He couldn’t see Molly looking like a zombie; he had to do something.

Lucily, he had done his own makeup for a handful of shows, so he probably had _something_ to cover them up with, right? Digging through the bag of mix-matched foundation shades, setting powder, and eyeliner, he finally found a tube of concealer. He placed a few dots over the area and blended it out with his fingers, setting the makeup with translucent powder.

He still looked like death, but slightly more alive than he had before. It was acceptable.

He checked his phone again for the directions Molly had sent. The unanswered message from Hannibal haunted him. He knew he should’ve responded the night before, but he simply didn’t know what to say. He needed to think about it some more. 

He texted Molly to tell her that he was on his way. He rushed down the stairs of his apartment complex and made a beeline for the subway. The restaurant was pretty close to the theatre, so he already knew which train to take.

The cars weren’t as crowded today. Will wasn’t exactly sure why, but he was thankful, because he wasn’t sure if I could handle too much chaos today. He almost considered calling off lunch, but he knew getting out of his apartment would probably help him get his mind off things. He also didn’t want to mess things up with Molly any more than they already were.

He really hoped he could make it up to her. They certainly weren't getting back together, but Will wished he had been able to keep Molly as a friend. Now, he had a chance to do that and he didn’t want to screw it up. He couldn’t let the situation with Hannibal fog up his day.

They were meeting at one of those quirky soup, salad, and sandwich places. Will hadn’t been there before, but he trusted Molly’s judgement. She was waiting for him outside, bundled up in a wool coat and scarf.

“Hello,” he said as he approached her cautiously.

“Hey,” she greeted him, less coldly than she had in the past. She seemed to take a closer look at him. “Are you wearing makeup?”

“Yeah, I didn’t sleep much last night,” Will said with a laugh. “Fell asleep somewhere around four and woke up thirty minutes ago.”

“Jeez, Will.” Molly looked genuinely concerned. “After all these years, you still haven’t learned to take care of yourself.”

“I’ve actually gotten a lot better,” Will said as they entered the restaurant. “I just had a lot of my mind, couldn’t shut it off.”

“I know the feeling,” she said as they were seated at a table by the window. “When I saw your name on the cast list, so many thoughts were spiraling through my head. I tried to push them all down, but it just made me irritable and constantly on-edge. Sorry if I was kind of a bitch to you in the past couple weeks. It was the only way I knew how to cope.”

“That’s understandable,” Will said, scanning the menu. “I’m personally going to avoid my problem for as long as possible.” 

He decided on chicken noodle soup, plain and simple comfort food. That’s all he could handle at the moment. Molly ordered a strawberry spinach salad with blueberries and walnuts. They made small talk while they waited.

“So, how’s life?” Will asked. He knew the question was cliche, but he was genuinely curious.

“Well, obviously I’m in this play,” she began, “but I’ve also been looking into going back to school. I kind of want to teach drama.”

“You are very brave,” Will said. He remembered how much of a nightmare high school drama was for both him and his teacher. He was always the only one paying attention while everyone else fucked around. “Teachers deserve a lot more money than what we’re giving them.”

“I’m not too worried about the money,” she admitted. “I’ve been seeing this guy who’s a professional baseball player, and it’s pretty serious. Not to make you feel bad or anything, but I think he’s the one.”

“I’m happy for you,” Will said. He had to admit, he was jealous, mainly of the fact that she wouldn’t be living paycheck to paycheck like him. Sure, they were big paychecks, but New York was very expensive. His salary could buy him a nice one story house on an acre of land back in Virginia. He could get a dog, too, or multiple dogs. The possibilities were endless. But for now, he was stuck living wherever he could find work.

When their food arrived, there were a few moments of silence as they enjoyed lunch. Molly laughed when Will burnt his tongue, and he returned the favor when she accidentally poured far too much vinaigrette onto her salad.

Will leaned back into his chair. The wood against his back transported him to Hannibal’s studio, his body pressed into a ladder. He could feel Hannibal’s hands around his waist, on his cheek, and crawling up his spine. His breathing accelerated and his heart began pounding in his chest. Will had already spent all night thinking about Hannibal. He didn’t need this. Not here. Not now.

“Will,” Molly said, snapping him out of it. “Are you okay? Is this one of your...you know, moments? Do you want to move away from the window?”

“No, no, it’s just…” Will couldn’t find the right words. “I’ve got a lot going on right now.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Molly put down her food, giving Will her undivided attention. “I’m here to listen”

“I…” Will wasn’t sure where to begin. “There’s this guy I’ve known for a few years. We met while I was working on this little animated miniseries. I was a voice actor, he was the storyboard artist. We hit it off pretty quick and have been friends ever since. Last night, I was over at his place practicing lines and when we got to the big fight scene...he kissed me. For real.”

“Did you kiss him back?” she asked. Of course, this was the obvious question.

“Yes,” he sighed, face in his hands. “And I didn’t pull away, I pulled him _closer._ I don’t know why I did it. Kissing him just felt different from anyone else. It wasn’t weird or awkward, it was just right.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

She had a point. Yes, Hannibal kissed him unexpectedly, but he kissed him back and enjoyed it. He just wasn’t sure how he felt about Hannibal. It was all very confusing.

“I got overwhelmed and ran off,” Will said. “I feel like we were having a moment and I ruined it. I just don’t know what comes next.”

“I think you should talk to him,” she said. “Tell him how it made you feel. Tell him why you had the leave. I’m sure he’ll understand.”

“Yeah…” Will still wasn’t sure if he could face him.

“If your awkward high school self could ask me out on a first date, you can talk about your feelings with this man who you clearly have a thing for,” Molly said. “You gotta believe in yourself a little more, Will. Besides, even if you don’t feel confident, you’re a great actor. Just fake it ‘till you make it.”

“You’re right,” Will agreed. “I think I just need a little more time.”

“You can’t keep him waiting forever.”

  
She was right, and Will hated it. He usually wasn’t one to avoid his problems, but this one just felt so _impossible_ . How was he supposed to talk to _Hannibal Lecter_ about being kissed by _Hannibal fucking Lecter_? He needed at least a week.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to preface this chapter with a little announcement. My updates may become more sporadic because I am currently writing Hannibal The Musical, as well as another musical for a video game. I'm prioritizing these projects mainly because they have the largest audience, but I promise I won't abandon this fic entirely. I just won't be able to update every week. Once the writing period of these musicals ends, I'll be able to go back to my regular schedule, but the next 2 months or so are gonna be kinda chaotic for me, so cut me some slack lol.
> 
> Luckily this chapter leaves off on a very wholesome note.

The third week of rehearsals should’ve been smooth, nearly seamless, but Will Graham was in shambles. He was so preoccupied by thoughts of Hannibal, he barely knew what was going on half the time. He spit out lines through muscle memory, paying no attention to what he was actually saying or doing. Jack was not pleased.

“Will, we need to talk,” Jack said, approaching him after they wrapped up. “What’s going on? You’re forgetting lines, blocking. Hell, you’d probably forget your own name if I didn’t call it.”

“Jack, I…” Will wasn’t entirely sure how to explain. He couldn’t just tell Jack about kissing his best friend of three years. “I’ve got some stuff going on at home that’s really throwing me off. I’m hoping to have it resolved before tech week.”

“Well, you’ve got three days, Will,” Jack reminded him. Tech week was  _ next week.  _ The performance was only a week away, and Will was ill-prepared. “Get some rest; be on your A-game.”

“I will,” Will promised as Jack walked away. He looked over to see Beverly making her way over to him.

“Alright, Will,” she said, hands on her hips. “Spill it.”

“Spill what?” Will was confused.

“You live alone,” Beverly said. “There’s no drama there, so tell me, who is it?”

“What do you mean  _ who is it _ ?” 

“Male or female?” she asked. “What’s their name? How long have they been living in your mind?”

Will was just now starting to catch on, but Beverly had known something was up as soon as he walked in that day. He had been acting strange throughout the week, but today, it was obvious.  Will Graham was in love, and she was determined to find out with whom.

“Oh, you mean…” Will trailed off. He sat down in one of the house seats. Beverly joined him. They had grown fairly close over the course of the last few weeks, chatting in between runs of the show. He felt like he could trust her with this. “His name is Hannibal. It’s kind of a long story,” he sighed.

“That’s okay,” Beverly assured him. “I’ve got time. What’s going on with you and  _ Hannibal _ ? I’m all ears.”

“Last week, I was practicing lines with him,” Will began. He felt a strong sense of dejavu, having already told this story just a few days ago. “We were at the part where Adrian and Diane’s fight starts to calm down and take a turn towards the romantic. When we got to the end, he kissed me.” He looked at Beverly, whose eyes were wide with anticipation. “And before you ask, yes. I kissed him back. Then I had one of my little...moments, and I ran away.”

“Have you talked to him at all?” Beverly asked. Her smile had faded. She looked concerned.

Will shook his head, bowing in shame.

“You need to give him closure, Will,” she said. “This is going to drive him nuts. It probably already has.”

Will had barely considered how Hannibal felt about all of this. Shit, now he was on the clock. It was only a matter of time before Hannibal let this eat away at him entirely. Will knew he had a habit of ruminating, which often led to self-destructive behavior. When left alone with his emotions, it often did not end well.

“Okay, let’s start with the basics,” she said. She could tell Will was a little freaked out by her previous comments. “Do you like him?

”Well, I’ve done a lot of thinking, and I think I might.” Will paused, struggling to find the right words. “I mean, he’s one of the only people I can make prolonged eye contact with, and he’s always been the first person I turn to when I’m struggling. I’ve never really thought about him romantically, but that night, everything felt so perfect.”

“Yes or no.”

Will hesitated. “Yes.”

“Why the pause?” Beverly asked. “What's holding you up about him?”

“He’s very...intense,” Will said. “He’s an artist and a philosopher. Something tells me he analyzes my every move. I’m just afraid that I won’t live up to his expectations.”

“Will.” Beverly waited for him to look her in the eye. “You are insane if you think this Hannibal guy won’t like you for who you are. You may be awkward at times, but you’re also extremely talented and highly intelligent. I haven’t known you as long as Hannibal has, but he probably sees even more in you. He’d be a fool to turn you down. If you like him, go for it.”

—

When Will left the theatre, he was on a fucking  _ mission _ . He was going to march himself over to Hannibal’s apartment and talk about his feelings if it was the last goddamn thing he ever did. He wanted to make sure that if he got his by a bus tomorrow, he could die knowing that he gave Hannibal closure.  Melodramatics aside, he obsessed over what he was going to say to him. Fidgeting on the subway, rushing through the terminal, and shivering as he walked down the street, he was rehearsing his lines. He wanted this interaction to be just as perfect as the kiss that started it all.

Still catching his breath from the run up the stairs, Will paced at the door to Hannibal’s place. After what was probably five whole minutes, he mustered up the courage to knock.  No answer. He knocked again. No answer.  He tried the doorknob, and it was unlocked. He slowly opened the door and stepped inside, looking around for any sign of Hannibal.

“Hannibal?” he called softly. 

_ Maybe he’s not home _ , Will thought.  _ But why would the door be unlocked? _

He entered the studio. It was dark, the only light coming in from a streetlight outside the window. He saw books scattered on the desk, some open with post-it notes covering the pages. In the other corner of the room lay a broken canvas, face down. He walked over to it and flipped it over to reveal Apollo and Hyacinthus torn apart. They reached out to each other, but the space between was too great. It was a beautiful tragedy.

Will didn’t realize he was crying until a tear fell on Hyacinthus’s face.  _ His face _ . This painting wasn’t just two Ancient Greek lovers. It was supposed to represent him and Hannibal.

“Will?” He heard a voice behind him and saw his shadow on the wall. He turned to see Hannibal holding a flashlight, lowering a kitchen knife to his side. He was dressed in a robe and pajama pants. “What are you doing here? It’s late.”

Will checked his watch. It was nearly eleven o’clock. He knew it had been an extra long day at rehearsal, but he hadn’t realized what time it was.

“I came to see you,” he said, wiping his eyes and putting the broken painting down. “I thought it was about time we talked.”

“Come in,” Hannibal said, gesturing for Will to join him. He turned off his flashlight and flipped the switch to illuminate the living room and kitchen. “Would you like a drink?”

“Yes, please,” Will said as he followed Hannibal into the kitchen. He knew he wouldn’t be able to have this conversation sober.

“So, you are here to talk,” Hannibal said, retrieving a bottle of Pinot Grigio. He poured a glass for both of them. “I am here to listen.”

They made their way over to the couch, sitting on opposite sides. Will found it more difficult than usual to look Hannibal in the eyes. In the dim lighting, his pupils were like black holes, pulling him in. He didn’t understand the way Hannibal made him feel. There were no words to describe it.

“I don’t even know where to begin,” Will said, taking a sip. “I guess I should start by asking how long you’ve been...you know.”

“In love with you?”

“Yes, that.” This was going to be more difficult than Will thought.

“First, we must agree on a definition of love,” Hannibal said. “Love is a madness, but it is the greatest of Heaven’s blessings. You have driven me mad, Will.” He paused for a response, but was met with that same deer-in-headlights look Will had given him that night. “My entire life, I did not believe in love at first sight, until you. When I met you, it was as if I were struck by a poison arrow. The moment you spoke, the poison entered my veins. There was no going back.”

“So you’re telling me that for the past three years, you have felt this way?” Will asked. Hannibal nodded. “So, why now? Why did you choose that night?”

“We are easily deceived when we are excited by emotions,” Hannibal said. “For example, the coward when excited by fear, the amorous person by amorous desire; so that, with but little resemblance to go upon, the former thinks he sees his foes approaching, the latter, that he sees the object of his desire; and the more deeply one is under the influence of the emotion, the less similarity is required to give rise to these illusory impressions. Thus too, both in fits of anger, and also in all states of appetite, all men become easily deceived, and more so the more their emotions are excited. My emotions were simply excited that night, Will.”

“You’re quoting Aristotle again, aren’t you?” Will noted, recognizing the train of thought.

“Very keen observation,” Hannibal applauded. “What I am trying to say is that clearly, my better judgement was clouded by emotion, causing me to act in ways I usually would not. I hadn’t planned on kissing you. It simply happened in a moment of intense emotions.”

“There’s no need to apologize,” Will assured him. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” He paused, trying to find the right words. “Hannibal, when you kissed me, I felt something that I’ve never felt before. I was in a state of euphoria, completely unaware of what I was doing. But the moment it stopped, all those feelings solidified and hit me like a tonne of bricks.”

“You felt overwhelmed,” Hannibal said. “That’s completely normal. I’m sure you felt the same way when you have your first kiss.”

“I felt like that with my first  _ everything,”  _ Will said, remembering his first sexual experience, after which he cried. It was rather humiliating, but his partner understood. It seemed as though every relationship milestone he hit was more awkward than the next. Of course, the second and third times were much better, but they were always overshadowed by his debut performance.

“Now I must ask you,” Hannibal said. “When did you feel the sting of your own poison arrow?”

“I don’t think I felt it when it hit me,” Will said. “But I discovered it just a few days ago. It is very potent.” He put down his glass and moved closer to Hannibal. Hannibal did the same. They now sat shoulder-to-shoulder. As Will turned to face him, he got that feeling again, the same feeling he had when he was kissing Hannibal. It was like an entire butterfly sanctuary had been set loose in his stomach. It felt as though if he opened his mouth, they would come flying out in a swarm. Was this love? Was this what it felt like to have Cupid’s poison coursing through your veins?

He wanted more.

Without any further thought on the subject, he placed a hand on Hannibal’s shoulder, leaned in, and kissed him. He was shy at first, but modesty was soon thrown out the window. He pushed Hannibal onto his back and climbed on top, straddling his hips. It was like he was under a spell. He just couldn’t help himself; he didn’t want to. It felt as though if he stopped kissing Hannibal Lecter, the entire world would cave in.

As he reached for the tie of his robe, Hannibal seized hold of Will’s wrist. Will pulled away, confused.

“Not here, not now,” Hannibal said between panting breaths. “Not yet.”

“When?” Will asked, sitting up.

“When you’re ready,” Hannibal said.

“You know me too well,” Will sighed, falling back onto Hannibal’s chest, hand over his heart as it rose and fell. The steady rhythm lulled him into a peaceful sleep, the first he’d had in over a week. Hannibal carefully slid out from underneath, as to not wake him. He tucked a pillow under Will’s head and covered him with a blanket, planting a kiss on his forehead as he said goodnight.  He walked over to the studio and grabbed a pencil and paper, bringing it back into the living room. He sat in an armchair facing Will and began to draw, recreating the painting he had destroyed, now in their image.

Hannibal appreciated beauty. In fact, he seeked it out whenever possible. He remembered the first time he laid eyes on Will Graham. The production team was out celebrating the completion of the first episode of their animated miniseries. Will had arrived late, and the last seat at the table was across from Hannibal.  He was wearing his glasses, hair tucked into a knit cap. His cheeks and nose were red from the cold. Underneath his wool coat, he wore a sweater over a button-down shirt, the collar peeking out. When he took off his hat, delicate curls tumbled out from under it. In Hannibal’s eyes, he was perfect in every way.

And now, as he lay with his eyes closed, lips slightly parted, Hannibal’s heart melted at the sight of him. No matter how hard he tried, his art could never match the beauty he saw in Will.

When he was finished, he placed the drawing on the coffee table for Will to find in the morning, then he himself went to bed.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> AHHHHHHH I haven't written fanfiction since like 2017!! I am VERY rusty, but I hope you guys are enjoying this so far. I fell in love with the concept and have a plan for at least 10 chapters. I'm aiming for 1500-2000 words per chapter, but sometimes I'm a bit more precise in my wording. I'm hoping to update every week, but I have a bunch of other projects going on right now (music, art, you know the deal) so if I'm late on updating, I promise there's a good reason haha
> 
> Once again, I hope you guys enjoyed this first chapter, and I look forward to hearing your feedback as we go on this fictional journey together.


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